


Linger In Your Light

by gaialux



Category: South Park
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan takes Kyle ice-skating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Linger In Your Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jizena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jizena/gifts).



> Written for the spsecretsanta exchange. Title taken from the Uncle Kracker song "Smile". This is ridiculously fluffy.
> 
> South Park does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

“ _Come on_.”

Stan’s voice is bordering on whiny and Kyle punches him.

“Ouch.” Stan rubs at his arm. “See, you’ve got good upper body strength — perfect for the team.”

Kyle flops back onto Stan’s bed and lets his head fall over the edge. “No.”

“Nothing I can do to persuade you?”

Blood is already rushing to Kyle’s head from the position and Stan’s voice is started to sound like it’s underwater. He sits up, turns over, and watches Stan stuff his already full gym bag with a hoodie.

“Was never very good at hockey.”

Stan sticks an acusationary finger toward him. “That’s a lie and you know it. You were awesome in elementary school. Anything athletic and Kyle Broflovski was first in line.”

Kyle rolls his eyes and lets his head fall back down. Stan has a point, but Kyle hasn’t played hockey in years, ever since he broke his leg in middle school and his mother tried to put an end to all physical activity. Basketball was the trade-off. He looks back up at Stan and shakes his head.

“Hockey was always more Ike’s thing.”

The way Stan’s staring at him tells Kyle he’s not buying it, but Kyle’s not sure what else to say.

“Suit yourself.” Stan zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Either way, you gotta come with me — or you can spend the next two hours with my dad. That’d be fun.”

Kyle groans and pulls himself from the bed. “I’m coming.”

::

It’s only hockey practice, but there’s still people seated in the stands. Crazy parents, mostly, the kind who scream at the sidelines during every game (though ha, because this is still South Park and this is still the birthplace of crazy. Kyle figured that out early on). And, seriously, what hockey team still has practices the week before Christmas?

“So you’re really gonna sit in the stands, bored off your ass?” Stan asks him as they walk through a group of those very same parents. Some are already glaring at their kids. It’s a _practice match_.

“I am.”

Stan raises his eyebrows but leaves for the locker rooms while Kyle is left to find a seat. Hopefully one away from the vicariously living parents. Eventually he makes his way almost to the top where he can hardly hear anything and the floor is littered with crushed soda cans and empy chip packets. Kyle wrinkles his nose and kicks them away so he can actually sit on something that’s not sticky or crawling.

By the time he’s seated the team starts coming out in a mass of green and yellow. Kyle spots Stan immedietly, just by the way he can glide across the ice with complete ease. He barrels into Craig who stumbles, almost falls, but Stan just keeps right on going. He’s perfect, Kyle decides. The perfect hockey player, and as long as he gets off South Park’s team he’ll go far.

Kyle isn’t sure if he likes that idea.

The coach blows his whistle and the sound echoes through the building. So does the yelling that soon joins, but Kyle’s far away enough that he can’t make out the words. Though he can piece it together when the players start moving into various positons and the puck is placed in the centre. Another blow of the whistle, and things start moving again.

Stan has the puck in his position the most, at least from what Kyle notices. He weaves through everyone and slams it straight into the net, just like it was unguarded. Kyle considers, for a very short moment, that maybe joining the team wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Especially if Stan could teach him all these new tricks he’s picked up over the years.

That…sounds stupid. Kyle averts his eyes and instead stares at the lines on the rink. He attempts to recite the periodic table and gets to Osmium before the whistle is sounded again and he jumps. He can see Stan moving away from the group, leaving the rink, coming toward the stands. Taking the steps two at a time, Stan soon reaches him. He’s breathing hard and Kyle can see his dark hair slicking to his forehead under the helmet. Kyle not-so-subtedly attempts to smooth down his own orange curls that are never, ever tamed.

“Watching isn’t as fun as doing, huh?” Stan asks, swinging his legs up onto the seat in front. “You sure I can’t persuade you to go out there? We’re down a player for the rest of the season, and coach is fine with any replacements. We suck.”

Kyle smiles. “Are you saying I suck?”

“Noo...”

They both crack into laughter, and everything else falls away. Even those obnoxious yells of those over-bearing parents. Even the coach’s yell. Oh, that probably bears listening to.

“Stan Marsh! If you don’t get your ass down here you’re off the team!”

Stan’s still laughing when he stands up and starts back down the stairs. He stops, and Kyle’s not sure why until he turns back around.

“And don’t leave early,” Stan says, “You wait right here ‘till I’m done.”

Kyle had no plans to do anything else.

::

He gets through the entire periodic table by the time the coach blows his whistle again. The guy’s angry. Even from his seat high above the rink, Kyle can see how red the coach’s face is. He can also hear the yelling this time, the words “The sorries sons of bitches ice-hockey’s ever seen” floating up to him.

Even though he was only half paying attention, Kyle didn’t think they did badly at all. He might not have played ice-hockey in years, but he has watched it and he knows talent when he sees it.

The coach leaves after his tyraid of insults, but his lips are still moving — obvious cursing, mostly — and Kyle decides it’s probably safe to make his way back toward the rink. Everyone has started leaving by the time he’s halfway down, including those parents, but he’s yet to catch sight of Stan. It’s only when he reaches the bottom does the familar face with beanie pulled over his eyes fall into his line of sight.

“If you won’t play hockey,” Stan calls, “At least skate with me for awhile?”

On closer inspection, Kyle sees that Stan has a pair of ice-skates hanging from his shoulder. The blade glitters when it hits the artifical light as Stan moves toward him. He stops at the edge of the rink.

“Come one.”

It’s oddly quiet in here, and Stan’s voice travels far. Everyone from the hockey team is gone, and he can’t even see any of the employees around. Kyle reaches Stan, and he still can’t see anyone.

“Are we supposed to be here?” Kyle asks.

“Mmhm.” Stan takes the skates from his shoulder and thrusts them into Kyle’s arms. “Put them on.”

Kyle gingerly takes the ice-skates, only because the blade is dangerously close to digging into his arms. Then he stares at them, and can’t figure out what to do. Something is seriously going on with his brain lately; he can’t concentrate on anything.

“I think it’s just like riding a bike,” Stan says. “C’mon, dude. I’ll hold your hand.”

Stan laughs and the sound echoes. There’s still nobody around, and Kyle’s starting to think that this is some sort of Cartman plan where he kidnaps everyone. But he’s not sure why Stan would be a part of it. He should really get home and study for the chemistry test on Tuesday.

“C’mon Kyle.” That whiny voice is back, and now Stan’s tugging on his jacket.

“God, you’re so annoying, you know that?”

“Yup.”

While Stan goes off and starts spinning on the ice — show-off — Kyle trudges back to the seat and tugs off his boots. He replaces them with the skates that actually fit him perfectly. Which is...weird to say the least. He looks up at Stan who has slowed to a lazy meander around and around the rink. He’s not looking at Kyle. The skates clank and echo as Kyle walks into the rink, and then pushes forward. Maybe it is like riding a bike. His legs seem to underKyled what to do, and it’s not like it’s been that many years since he stepped out on the ice.

Stan comes toward him, grinning. “See, told you.”

Then Stan goes back to showing off, skating backwards so fast he becomes like a blur before turning and hurtling back toward Kyle. Kyle manages to get out of the way just in time, and starts a slow glide down the rink. Stan continues to circle him again and again until he must be so dizzy he’s close to falling. Kyle decides to test that theory and twists suddenly, managing to catch Stan offguard and sending him almost sprawling. But he catches himself just in time and stays upright.

“Aw, Kyle, you’re gonna have to try harder than that,” he calls, zooming off down the ice on one leg.

He’s not quite graceful enough to be an figure skater, but the way he’s gliding makes Kyle think he’s a hybrid hockey-player-figure-skater…something. Either way, Kyle can’t keep his eyes off him until he notices Stan’s staring, looks away, and tries to hide the stupid heat rising in his cheeks. It’s meant to be freaking cold.

“You gonna come catch me?”

Kyle shakes his head. He’s quite content with just slowly sliding around. Well, at least he was until Stan insists on coming back over and tugging at Kyle’s wrist.

“Come on,” he says. He sounds exasperated more than whiny now. “If you fall on your ass, only I have to see.”

Yeah. Exactly. But Kyle puts up a very weak protest against Stan’s incessence and soon finds himself in the centre of the rink. A blink later he also finds himself with his hand grasped into Stan’s and his face only inches away.

“See?” Stan says. Kyle can see Stan’s breath, but it’s warm against his face. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Not scared of falling,” Kyle mumbles. He knows he won’t fall. He just...he doesn’t actually know why he didn’t want to come out here.

“Well, then you don’t let me fall.” Stan gives another wide-mouthed grin.

“You won’t fall.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Stan starts pulling him along the ice again and Kyle goes with it, mostly too distracted by the numbness in his hand being replaced by the warmth of Stan’s. He really should have brought gloves.

“Quiet, hey?” Stan says.

Kyle nods. It’s almost silent except for the steady scrape of blades on ice and their breathing. Kyle’s is too fast, and he tries to hide it. Fails dismally of course.

“Everyone is so easy to buy-off. Managed the whole rink for ten bucks. The guy was kinda crazy, but—”

“Why?” Kyle blurts out.

Stan smiles at him. “’Cause you’ve developed some sort of shy complex and refused to play hockey with me.”

“Am not shy,” he mutters, starring down. The laces on the skates aren’t tied properly. He should really stop and do them up.

“Dude, you’re like me when I was with Wendy — only _I_ got over that early on.”

Kyle looks back up and Stan is still only inches away. Less than that. And he’s still smiling, but not in the condescending way Kyle suspected. It actually looks more supportive than anything, but Kyle isn’t sure if that’s what he wants.

“I’m not shy,” Kyle says.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not.”

The supportive smile is turning into more of a grin, but Kyle can’t read this one. He pulls out of Stan’s hands and goes out on the ice on his own. Maybe he should join the hockey team, he has missed it. And losing one game when he was a kid should hardly stop him. But...he doesn’t know. Instead of spending more time thinking, Kyle goes after Stan.

He’s looking the other way and Kyle gets a grasp on his shoulders. He means to spin him around so they’re facing each other, but Kyle’s stupid mind seems to forget _they’re_ _on the fucking ice_ and instead their legs tangle and they’re both sent tumbling down, hard. Kyle hits with his ass, then his shoulder, and the pain radiates upward, downward, outward; all over his body.

“Shit — Kyle — you okay dude?”

At first Kyle thinks Stan sounds concerned, but he’s _laughing_. Giggling, really — like a little kid. And even though Kyle’s shoulder hurts like a bitch, there might be a bit of truth in the ‘laughter is contagious’ cliche because the echoing sound of Stan eventually sets Kyle off.

“You _dick_ ,” Stan says as he gasps for air. “We’re on _ice_. It’s slippery you know? Didn’t think you forget _that_ much between now and when you were last on the team.”

Kyle lays his head back and it’s wet against his head almost immedietly. And his back. And his legs. All of him. It’s freezing and kind of gross, but that doesn’t matter. Not really. Not when Stan sits up beside him, so close that Kyle can see the small flecks of yellow in his otherwise blue eyes. Compared to the ice, Stan’s breath is as hot as the sun on Kyle’s face.

“When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?” Stan asks.

Kyle thinks his voice is supposed to be almost a whisper, but it sounds so loud in the empty rink.

“You know the answer to that,” Kyle says. “I tell you _everything_.”

That’s part of being Super Best Friends, right? As stupid as the term is — and they haven’t used it in years — the words still play over and over in Kyle’s mind whenever he’s with Stan. They are best friends. Stan pretty much represents everything Kyle likes in the world.

“No secret girls you haven’t told me about?” Stan grins.

Kyle snorts. “Yeah, right.”

What happens next…Stan’s still not sure. One minute it’s heat on his face and cold on his back, then it’s like fire burning through him — and good fire, not like burning your hand on the stove or stepping on a fire poker (a very, very stupid mistake made on what Kyle aptly named ‘The First And Only Time Kyle Bruflovski Gets Shit-Faced Drunk Under Kenny McCormick’s Supervision’). When Stan pulls back Kyle’s mind finally catches up with him.

Stan had kissed him.

Duh.

“You — Did you —”

“Shh.” Stan cuts him off with another brush of their lips, and this time Kyle definitely keeps with the program. Kissing. Stan is kissing him. In the middle of an ice-hockey rink. W week before Christmas. While Kyle has a busted shoulder. Stan and Kyle. Kissing. His Super Best Friend. Wow. “Quit thinking dude.”

And Kyle does. He tells his brain to shut up and kisses Stan back, feeling the warmth of his lips and the press of his tongue as it twists into his mouth. Wet and hot and perfect. Everything Kyle never knew he wanted (okay, that was a lie — a big one. Kyle had wanted this…for a very, very long time).

“So, this —” Kyle pauses. “This is real?”

Stan nods. “Yeah. It’s real.” He smiles and pushes Kyle’s beanie back before pressing a kiss at his brow. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah.” Kyle attempts to clear his throat. “Merry Christmas.”

And it’s freezing on the ice but Stan kisses him and kisses him and Kyle can’t bring himself to care about his shoulder or the fact he’s probably about to catch hypothermia from lying here. It all fades into the background until it’s just all he ever wanted. Until it’s just Stan and Kyle.


End file.
